Rage, Weep, Bleed, Yird
by WhenFireSpeaks
Summary: Madness is a sense most divine. It frees us of mortal frailty, exalts us to see the truth. The race is on to find the cure to the metaphysical disease that plagues all life. But sometimes, some things cannot be fought naturally. Sometimes, one must unleash the monster within to destroy the monsters without. In short: Mad, mad Team RWBY. ON HIATUS (For PERHAPS A MONTH)
1. Rage

Inspired by Blood Rose. Concept was awesome.

Thus, much copy. Though, probs not as good. As can see, me bad bad writer.

Though, hopefully, same schedule.

Plz review for 1000 words a day?

...

To set you up for a proper mood,

Here is a song I found,

Literally minutes before I wrote this piece.

I hope you enjoy.

Do you want to build a snowman?

www. youtube watch?v=78g0SyQjU1s

...

**It** is said that the Grimm had no souls.

That they were dark stalkers in the night, cruel killers in the dark, that to fall to their claws and their teeth and their talons was to have your very spirit torn screaming from your body and cast into the eternal darkness beyond time and space.

It was said they were the void to the light of man. That they were His antithesis, in all but name and word.

If only such were true.

There are darker things than maddened beasts,

And in dark times, even demons may know death.

...

**Cardin** Winchester was having a great time.

Contrary to most beliefs, Cardin Winchester was not a complete, bloody idiot. If he was, he wouldn't have gotten into Beacon into the first place. In fact, he was the richest kid in all of Beacon, beating out even Pyrrha "I'm on Cereal Boxes!" Nikos. Why?

Cardin ran the school's black market. You needed something, you floated in by one of Cardin's cronies, dropped them a bag of cash (no, his business didn't accept lien, those damned things were too traceable), and three days later, when you opened your lockers, presto! Your order was delivered. No questions asked.

No one dumb enough to try to double cross the Big Man himself. No one wanted to die that badly.

Well, except for this dumb little pipsqueak in front of him. Cardin smiled. Rarely, business overlapped with pleasure.

The first warning Jaune had was when a mountain suddenly appeared behind him. The poor boy was still trying to figure out the change in light when a massive fist cuffed him on the side of his head.

"Ugh!"

The blonde boy landed heavily on the floor, his eyes wild.

"Jaune, Jaune, Jaune, I thought you knew better. I know we've never had the best boss-servant relationship, but I thought you'd have a higher sense of corporate responsibility. Man, we've been the most loyal of partners after you confessed to me the truth about your admissions! But running to Ozpin after the crackheads were caught?"

Cardin's face grew serious, and he snarled.

"You're going to _hurt_ for that."

It is said that when forced into "death-ground", even the most timid of beasts will fight like a demon. Jaune was in such a situation. Unfortunately, a million years of snakes eating mice have proved that well, it didn't always work. Cardin didn't even blink at Jaune's first blow, simply grabbing his hand and twisting it so hard that an audible crack reverberated through the room. Instantly Jaune began weeping, howling in pain and begging for mercy.

"Cardin oh god please what have I done please no!" he babbled.

Cardin's lip curled in disgust. His teammates, though no great saints themselves, drew the line at business and didn't particularly enjoy beating people. After Cardin had finally been caught flushing a faunus's head down a toilet bowl, Dove had (tentatively, of course) asked him about his "anger issues."

Well, the simple fact was that Cardin absolutely detested Jaune and his merry little band. The rest of the Faunus could burn too, as far as he cared. Weaklings. They were all pathetic in his eyes.

When he first saw Jaune, Cardin could swear that he could actually smell milk off of his breath. Not that milk was bad, mind you, but any man with a decent amount of combat experience could tell that Jaune _did not belong_. He couldn't swing his sword correctly, he slept in class, he whined all the time. If Jaune had kept that to himself, Cardin would have been absolutely content to videotape the moment he really fought against a Forsaken One and got killed.

The worst thing though, was that he _didn't_ even keep it to himself. He held back everyone in classes (though, here, Cardin had to admit he wasn't perfect either) and sat around, getting lollycuddled by everyone around him. People said that the school was fucked up because it didn't stop people like Cardin? Tough, the school didn't even have the decency to expel an idiot like Jaune who would most probably get his team killed on their very first mission.

Cardin was no saint. He was never going to get a best man of the year award, he fucking knew it. He didn't care. He didn't join to be a hero, but to earn the diploma that came with graduation to gain some legitimacy so that his future would be secured and he would have a job, and damn, if it required fighting demon beasts spawned from beyond sanity's end, Cardin wasn't going to back down. He'd earned everything he had, every step of the way, like a damned true Human. Not like those idiot Faunus, who had been gifted with such physical prowess that there was actually a word for restful procrastination in their vocabulary. The fuck? They were in tune with nature? Well, tough. In the end, humanity crushed nature and took with blood what the Faunus took for granted.

Humanity worked hard, and earned it's just reward. People like Jaune were fucking parasites that ruined everybody's shit.

Cardin sneered.

"You're weak, Jaune. There really is no reason, except I _can._"

He clenched his fist, and readied to plant it into the blonde babbler's face, just taking a short second to admire his work. Tears were streaking down Jaune's face as he cradled his broken arm. The big baby was finally crying. Beautiful.

Ironically, it was this pause that damned him.

"Red…like rose-s, fills my dreams…"

A singsong voice echoed through the empty locker room. A _female _voice. A _young, girly, female_ voice.

Cardin roared. As a rule, he didn't really have qualms about beating women, but there was no need to go around finding trouble when he didn't need (or want) to and the last things he needed was witnesses. Because generally, that meant he had to resort to dealing out concussions, and that was actually life threatening in certain cases. He wasn't going to jail again.

"**Bitch**, the girl's room's _next _door!"

Whoever it was, it didn't seem like she had heard. The singing voice continued, and even Cardin had to admit it was getting a little creepy. A disembodied girl voice in a deserted locker room at midnight? This was prime horror material.

"…and brings me to the place you _rest_."

The door opened. Cardin kicked the weeping Jaune behind a wall and turned to face the intruder.

"I told you—"

The last thing Jaune heard before he blacked out was Cardin's drawn out _scream_.


	2. Confusion

**Susurrations**.

_i know you're in there_

_i know you're afraid to leave_

_i want your bright blue eyes-_

_they're so pretty_

_almost as pretty as mine—_

_but I need you_

_so you'll live…_

_so please don't disappoint me…_

_i would hate to have lied…_

**Jaune** awoke, to his surprise. The slow grinding of the cogs that were omnipresent throughout Beacon greeted him. With a soft groan, he pulled himself off of—a bed?

A shock of pain ran through his arm, and he seized up as his prodigious Aura ran through his body, activated by his awakening. Though thin and dried, the energy of the essence of form ran through his body and already, the pain was fading. Not even his massive Aura could completely cure a broken bone however, especially with Cardin's own Auric patterns disrupting his own. It would take a week for him to fully recover.

He took a long deep breath of the vaguely medicinal air, and he shivered as the hazy events of yesterday began to percolate through his head. Whatever damage Cardin had done, however, evidently breaking his arm was enough. And he had been picked up and sent to the medical ward. Again.

"**_Bastard_**," Jaune cursed.

The pain wasn't so bad. Everyone at Beacon, at this point in the mid-term, knew the basics of pain suppression—and Jaune had been working hard with Pyrrha to the point that, though he was still unable to project offensively, he had gone from a total Sleeper to one of the better students in Auric biomeditation.

He should have been proud. It was something that took years to achieve, and he had done it in—what? Six months?

Jaune, gritting his teeth, wrenched his arm again, biting into his tongue at the _incredible_ pain, tasting blood. Anything was better. Anything was better, then the horrifying sense of shame that threatened to overwhelm him.

It was never going to be fucking enough—

And with that, he stopped. He had left that part of him behind. There was really no more need to relive it. He still had no idea why Cardin hated him so much, but there would always be dicks in the world. And he supposed he should be glad for "only" a broken arm. He was used to it.

Jaune sighed. There was really no sense in wasting time. The classes, as horribly taught and hard to concentrate in as they were, beckoned. He put on the soft slippers, and walked over to open the door to the medroom he was in.

_Locked_.

Jaune's already irritated mood just got worst, and against his better judgment, he snapped.

"Hello! Is there someone out there actually working?"

That was when he noticed the bars on the windows. And the fact that the door was made of a solid slab of steel.

What—

Jaune had been a regular visitor to the Medical wing of Beacon over the past six months, mostly due to his inability to shape Aura, and (you guessed it) Cardin. But he had never, ever seen a room like this before.

Hell, it looked more like a prison cell than a medward.

In fact—

With a loud _bang_, the door burst open. Acrid smoke spread through the room, and Jaune began coughing as dark figures surged out from the smoke.

_Wham_!

A heavy blow aimed at his knees forced him into a kneel and before Jaune could even fight back, one of the dark figures had wrenched his uninjured arm behind his back.

"Agh! You can't—"

Whatever Jaune was about to say died in his throat and he gulped. Oh, shit.

Glynda Goodwych had a well-earned reputation as an unpleasable slavedriver. Legend stated that after a student had acted out in her class, she had froze him up to the waist and floated him down the Grimm infested Eyrie River. The thing was, Jaune would have gladly wished for Glynda Goodwych right now.

The cold, dead eyes that greeted him reflected his very imminent death. If Glynda Goodwych was tough but fair, Morevna Koschei was downright sociopathically insane, and completely sadistic. She had to be. As the Master of Morale and a lead member of the school's Board of Wartime Psychology, she had placed aside all human empathy and compassion and focused her career on reinventing humans to become the ultimate Grimm-killing weapons so needed by Mankind.

Morevna Koschei was tall, thin, and gaunt. A single, long scar ran across her face and her left eye was tattooed over with a bloodied sunburst pattern. Her intensely violet, almost black hair, was cropped short and atop her head was perched a military cap with Vale's tri-key symbol, emblazoned over a death's head pattern. Her face was characteristically cold, and as always, she was in a regulation perfect military dress uniform.

The woman had a fearsome reputation. While Glynda was simply unapproachable by personality, Morevna's class and the subjects she taught by their very nature dispelled all mirth. Even Cardin looked a little green when she coldly detailed out methods of supervising mass executions of Grimm-infected civilians.

If she was here, things were very, very bad. Jaune swallowed.

"Miss—"

He was cut off instantly.

"Jaune Aurelianus Magentius Arc. You have broken Institutional Law and have been confined to the Asylum for your own safety and the safety of your classmates. As a ward of the Beacon Institution, we have full parental authority over you, including the use of the ultimate Rite. Be aware that anything you say can be used against you, and that you still maintain the basic rights of sentience and of the accused, including but not limited to knowledge of the crime you have committed. You may begin your questions."

"C-crime? But what crime? I haven't done anything!"

"If you insist. But Cardin's half cannibalized body in the intensive care ward would beg to disagree."

"W-_what_? _But_—"

Jaune's hysterical plea was instantly stopped when Morevna raised up a gloved hand, gesturing for silence.

"The matter is too complicated to be explained here. Chain him, and bring him to the interrogation room."

...

**The** interrogation room was sparse and uncomfortable. The uncomfortableness of it all was only exacerbated by the extremely professional way that Jaune was tied to his seat. He had been gagged and blindfolded. Now that he was in the room, however, he couldn't really see what was the point. There wasn't anything to see, anyways.

Morevna sat directly opposite him, across a bare table. When she saw he was awake and conscious, she began.

"Based on chain-of-event logic, the Institutional Administration believes it has reconstructed exactly what occurred. However, it is an incomplete estimate at this point. Additionally, based on our psychological profiles, many of the faculty find it unlikely that you would be capable of what you have done. You will have the opportunity to explain yourself, beginning now."

She glanced at him expectantly. There was a moment of silence, as Jaune struggled somewhat awkwardly to remember what exactly had occurred the day before. He began uncertainly.

"It—it—I think it started when I was in the locker rooms. I—I was in the locker rooms, right? And so, um, I was trying to get—uh, get my—"

"We know what you were attempting to acquire, Arc."

"Uh…you do?"

The atmosphere grew intensely awkward for Jaune. Morevna didn't even flinch.

"Sexual relations between students are permitted at the school. Please continue."

Something withered up and died horribly in Jaune as he winced from her bluntness. But her expectant glare brooked no hint of dissension, so Jaune hastily continued.

"And so, when I was getting my…uh, well, Cardin snuck up on me and whacked me on the head."

Jaune swallowed again. It was shameful. _Again_.

"He overpowered me, and broke my arm. At that point, I couldn't think clearly anymore, and I fainted."

There was silence, as Morevna digested what Jaune had said.

"I see. Then, according to your version, you have no idea whatever occurred after you fainted?"

Jaune shook his head.

"I see. You may want to brace yourself."

Without warning, she whipped out a picture and held it up to Jaune's face, before he could even flinched away. It took him a second to recognize what he was seeing, but when he _saw_, _oh god_—

As Jaune retched, Morevna watched dispassionately.

"I see. Let's test then, if you're still human."

Jaune felt two guards grab his arms. He tried to fight back, but there was nothing he could do.

"You can't! This -"

"This is law. There will be no exceptions."

There was nothing he could do.

…

**Morevna** Koschei gave a soft sigh as she watched the Excubitors drag the boy away. It did not go unnoticed by Ozpin—whose voice, though uncharacteristically humorless, was still filled with concern—crackled in her concealed comm-piece.

"Something wrong, _Tacitus_?"

She stiffened somewhat, and stretched back in a surprisingly fluid motion that was at odds with her usual parade ground demeanor and tapped rapidly on the glass window behind her in a complicated pattern. With a soft _ding_, the glass slid down and revealed the Headmaster.

Ozpin, taking a sip of his coffee, cocked an eyebrow. After a few slightly awkward seconds, Morevna cleared her throat self-consciously, and stood stiffly to her feet. Ozpin waited. And waited. And waited some more.

If somehow managing to fidget while remaining completely still was a sport, Morevna would be taking home gold medals. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Uh…sir?"

She could swear the Headmaster gave a short groan but it was gone so quickly that she thought she had imagined it—and that was quite a feat, considering her position as a _Tacitus_. It wasn't easy to get the slip on her.

"At ease, Morevna. Say what you think."

The purple haired woman hesitated somewhat, as if struggling with something. Then it was gone, covered by a veneer of ice-cold professionalism. Her eyes darkened, and her face grew grim.

"Sir, report. As of current interrogation, I did not detect significant abnormalities in psychology or see any of the trigger signs of Grimm infection. Subject's story is nominally plausible and did not seem to be lying, although this cannot be confirmed to a satisfactory deviation. However, during the interview, I picked up on some hints of underlying psychological stress—nothing seemingly particularly significant, though this cannot be confirmed at this point. If I was—"

She paused briefly. Ozpin nodded, and taking it as a sign to continue, she finished her sentence.

"If I was the commanding officer and this was the Valiant 13th, I would place him under a psychological fitness protection program. Again, subject does not seem to have any signs of significant cognitive defects, but I would not take the chance."

Ozpin's face grew solemn, and he sighed.

"I understand. We'll watch him."

Saying so, he sat back on his chair and began mulling over some papers. He glanced up one last time at Morevna, and gave a tired smile.

"You are dismissed now."

She nodded once, and left.

…

**As** soon as Morevna was out the door, Ozpin gave a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew her reputation with the students—and frankly, given the way she ran them, he wasn't particularly surprised.

The Venator project and the traditional Valyrian military had never mixed particularly well. It was only to be expected, of course—even within the supposedly unified Valyrian military, pride and prejudice abounded between the different branches of the service.

The Hunters of the Venator Project were a completely different beast, of course. Flashy. Powerful. Confident. Daring. Shining heroes of old, striding down the battlefields and smiting down monsters wherever they lurked. They were the hope, in humanity's eyes. Crowds cheered them on where ever they went and children dreamed of one day joining their ranks.

Then there was the traditional military.

Shadowy, faceless men and women. No one really saw what they did, or in truth, cared to know. They had a dark reputation. When Grimm cults sprang up, they wrested control and usurped local authority. When a village needed cleansing, it was the military that would be called in to supervise the cruel work of separating the savable from the damned. It was evil work, but necessary. Unlike the Hunters, who fought beasts from legend, the military slew common men, women, and even children. After an initial Hunter wave, the unsung soldiers of Vale's military would move in, securing and beginning the bitter process of wresting infected land from the hands of the Grimm. For every Grand Kaiju or Nevermore or even lowly Beowolf taken down by a Hunter, tens of hundreds more Slithersides and Fleshcreepers were killed and killed the unaugmented children of Valyr.

So naturally, there was a deep resentment on both sides. The Hunters saw the military as cruel thugs who were willing to kill and hurt even those who were supposed to be their allies. The military saw the Hunters as naïve glory hounds who drained away potential recruits from an already dwindling population—useless and completely unproductive. The military sacrificed, the Hunters gained. And so, neither group really tried to understand the other.

Still, Ozpin had never let any of that distract from his work. His duty was to all mankind, and when a new position had opened up, he had, against all expectations, chosen Morevna Koschei to be the new teacher, despite her dark reputation. And against all expectations, even his, she had accepted, to much outcry from both institutions.

This was an honor Ozpin would not forget.

A tablet beep broke him out of his reverie. It was a message from Glynda.

—Jaegar is red. Forced Move King?—

Ah. She had heard. Ozpin snorted, unsurprised. It was amazing how many people, even in today's more civilized age, took a look at Glynda and decided that there couldn't be anything smart behind that pretty face. Hell, half the time, it was she who was running the show, not him.

He glanced at the azure file, staring at it with such intensity he that he could swear it had started smouldering—

Ah—and if it was Glynda, it might have actually exploded into flames. He smiled briefly at the thought, but it was a smile without mirth.

His hand hovered over the file. He could do it. With one cross, one word—he, Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon, could end this before it even began. It would save his ragged old soul. It was so close—

And with that, his hand dropped, and he leaned back into his chair, feeling very, very tired. He took his stamp, and pressed it gingerly on the cover. The red ink oozed like blood...

**_The_**_ bandaged man screamed, even though his lungs took in no air. Pain and blood. Fear and blood. Death and blood! He felt it dripping, falling, coagulating on the floor!_

_No! He screamed again and again, in defiance of the shining fists, _it could not_—_

There was only silence, as the medical monitor beeped.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

…

"**Please**, sit."

The young man did as he was bidded. The dark, suited woman nodded appreciatively.

"Mmmm. Now, tell me. What does the room look like to you?"

The young man glanced around, clearly unconcerned about the strange question.

"The room? White. Blank. Nothingness."

"Interesting."

There was a faint, medicinal smell again. The suited woman spoke again—

"Nothing? _Everything_ has consequences. You are not just a disgrace, but a _traitor_!"

"To what? A broken house grabbing for glories past? I shall not be part of this farce!"

"_Farce?_ **Farce!**"

There was a sudden silence.

"I see. I see clearly now, when I have been so blind before. You are not Argent. You will never be. And so our line shall end with you. A half-born nitwit. A scourge upon our history."

_He would always remember the burning eyes._

"Love, it seems, is overrated. If a monarch can choose either to be loved, or feared, he should always choose fear."

"Wait—"

"Silence, child. You could not have left alone. Magen—it must be Magen. He has never taken the rite seriously."

"No—"

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

"I want you to _watch_, child. **This is the fate that befalls all traitors**!"

"**_No!"_**

BLOOD—

Jaune screamed, clawing at his eyes. The Excubitors immediately sprang into action, leashing him, restraining him. Tears fell from his eyes as he wept openly, bitterly, at this most cruel violation. He gave pure, primal moan of loss and pain and fell, unmoving.

Morevna waved the Excubitors back, and they obeyed.

"Get him his clothes. Bring him to a bed. He's still human. He deserves as much."

The masked warriors nodded, and left, leaving the dark haired woman to watch the weeping power dispassionately. Then—

She leaned down, ever so softly, and said:

"Crying is a good thing. It reminds you that you are still human."

She left Jaune there. There was nothing she could do.

…

When he had finally managed to muster the strength to drag himself out of the medical ward, it was already dark. Or had it been dark the whole time? Jaune didn't know. He didn't really care.

When he walked through the hallways, students turned and pointed at him. They whispered. They took one look at his thunderous expression, and they retreated far away. Not even Cardin's thugs had tried to stop him. In fact, Sky Lark had almost turned white with fear upon seeing Jaune and had all but ran from the room. If it had been another time and place, Jaune might had even felt a slight guilty pleasure.

Not today. Not after that goddamned psychic interrogation.

By the time he had reached his room, it was almost midnight. He took out his keycard, and swiped it.

The first thing he sensed was the rust red hair. The second was the slight, sweet sense of olive flowers.

Pyrrha was waiting for him. She was in her sleeping clothes, and had jerked back at the sound of the door opening.

"Jaune?"

Her eyes widened when she saw his pathetic state. His eyes were bloodshot, and his arm was in a sling. His hair was rumpled, and it looked like he had gone a week without sleep. And worst of all, the kindness, the hope she always saw in him, that mischievous smile that always was on…was gone.

He all but fell, with Pyrrha catching him before he hit the ground.

"Jaune! _Jaune_!"

Frantically, she hauled him over to the bed. Propping herself up beside him, she stroked his hair.

"Tell me—"

He didn't give her a chance to finish. His lips locked around hers, desperately, feverishly, and his breath sent shivers down her spine. She started to kiss him back, to run her hands _down his chest and_

When he flinched and she jerked back, realizing that he had a broken arm—

"I'm sorry! I didn't—"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. His blue eyes stared intensely into her.

"No. Don't ever be."

And he smiled.

"You make my life worth living."

The rest of the night passed without any more words.

...

I've just been doing some housecleaning with my story. Thought it would look better if I combined Confusion, Part 1 and Confusion, Part 2 together, and added a sweet ending for Jaune. Poor guy has had a rough day.

Well, I felt it was pretty sweet. But I'm a cruel little psychopath with a keyboard, so dear reader, you'll have to judge.

Also, I absolutely hated—_hated_—that Glynda part. It should be burned with FIRE! I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote it. So, it's pending massive rewrite.

And also, I'm not very sure, but according to headcanon, Team RWBY proper should be showing up anytime soon. Or not.

See you guys next time!


	3. Interregio, Cut 1

**The **man cocked an eyebrow at her quizzically. His laughably large mustache, oversized glasses, and strong odor of overripe oranges only added to the absurd caricature.

"Uh…you…"

His face lit up and he snapped his fingers.

"Ah yes! You're the witch, correct? Ozpin's sexy little minx of a secretary?"

Glynda Goodwych was not amused. In fact, she could swear she was about to burst a blood vessel.

Glynda Goodwych was _not_ a secretary. She was _not_ the Academy bookkeeper, accountant, or/and walking trophy. And by all the gods in Heaven and Earth, she was _not _and would_ never _be Ozpin's _sexy little minx_. Where the hell had people gotten that from?

OK, maybe the rumors had a point.

Glynda…was…a secretary. At this point and time in space.

But that didn't mean anything! Secretaries had enormous power. Why, in fact, way back in history, there was a man who had used his secretarial credentials to usurp the central government and rule an Empire of millions!

And the minx thing…

She mentally chased away the disturbing image. No need to make things even more complicated as they were, already.

Glynda was not excellent secretary material. She did not enjoy being ordered around. She did not, as a rule, like people. Her usual replies were tactless and blunt. So, at this point and time, it took all of her willpower to not punch the weaseling…big…man in the face.

Instead, she smiled. Awkwardly. Murderously.

Ozpin was going to pay for this.

"Yes…Procopius. I'm Ozpin's…sexy little minx. And now, if you'll excuse me…"

The man laughed heartily, whole body shaking as he waved over a waiter.

"No, of course, not at all! But, my dear, are you sure you wouldn't like to regal me with grand tales of the Venator project? Or, perhaps something…alcoholic to warm up?"

The lecherous leer he was sporting was now downright criminal. Glynda shook her head, in a firm no.

"I'm sorry, monsieur. A lady has her…things to take care of."

The man looked vaguely disappointed, then shrugged, wobbling slightly. The resemblance to Peter Port was quite uncanny. She turned to leave, but suddenly, the man grasped her hand and pumped it vigorously. Glynda tried to suppress a horrified shriek as the man _lifted up her hand and brought it to his mouth_. He began wailing theatrically.

"Oh, fair maid, please do not forget me when you leave! Please, my poor heart would not be able to bear it! Here—"

He struggled something in his pocket, and clumsily extracted a card.

"All my information, flower of beauty. May we meet again!"

He have a deep bow, causing the fake hair he had on to partially peel from his scalp, exposing the sweaty back of his head. People were actually turning around and looking at Glynda with a look of almost undisguised pity.

Her face red, she all but ran out from the ball.

…

"_Sexy little minx?_ Really?"

There was an extremely undignified sniggering from the other end of the comm-line.

"I needed something that would draw your attention. Something unforgettable."

"There is a way to undergo a dead drop, without the use of cheesy lines. My answer is still no, Headmaster. _I will not go on a date with you_."

There was a theatrical sigh.

"Ah, flower of beauty. Truly, is it ever so unattainable."

Glynda simply rolled her eyes at this. Gods. _Men_.

Still…she was slightly curious.

"So…Procopius. I was not expecting that."

There was a light chuckle.

"Mmmm…yes, he does leave an impression."

Then, the voice was serious.

"You understand how big this matter is. Byzas rarely gives out information in person. Cogs are moving within cogs. Our actions—"

"Decide the fate of nations. This is indeed a heavy message you bear, Miss. And in such a depressing environment."

_**Crack**_

Immediately, Ozpin cut off the audio link. In the darkened alley, below the Weeping Moons, Glynda turned around. An almost invisible silhouette hung in the background.

"Hard times call for harsh measures. And high technology sometimes miss low means."

"Mm. Makes sense."

Glynda opened her hands, in a gesture of peace.

"I am Glynda Goodwych, and I bear a message from Ozpin himself. He extends a hand of peace. And you?"

The man fully stepped into the light. His eyes burned intensely.

"I?"

He grinned.

…

"**Sector 115A decontamination complete. Beginning repopulation protocols. Sector 2456D showings signs of incomplete repopulation. Recommend…"**

Cold. Dispassionate. Calculating. All excellent traits in military personnel.

The man opposite her shook his head.

"Are you sure, Ms. Goodwych? That nothing I do can tempt you away from the Venator?"

Glynda smiled. It was genuine, but it was a smile without warmth.

"Thank you, _Strategoi_. But I am content with the position I hold."

He snickered.

"Please. Always I am Mercury. Mercury to my subordinates, and Mercury especially to an esteemed guest as yourself."

"Mmm. But still. I would not want to impinge upon hierarchy."

"If you insist."

He shrugged, and swept his arm over the table length screen. Glynda watched him for a while, without comment. Then, as he maneuvered a virtual regiment (the Valiant 13th, the small marker displayed) behind a distort, Glynda clenched a fist, and the dimensional rift the regiment had been using to cover their movements suddenly expanded and swallowed them up. The _Strategoi's_ nose flared in surprise.

"The _Jende_ people have an uncanny ability to sense spatial distortions. In fact, I believe they utilized the same tactic in the First Servile War, to great effect against the royal forces."

Mercury shook his head, then sat back ruefully.

"That tactical sense. That respect for the past. The Valyrian military needs more people like you."

Glynda paused at this.

"If I may? Speak freely?"

The green haired man waved casually.

"Go ahead. Again, I emphasize, we are equals and siblings, Venator and Belii."

He did not flinch, even when Glynda abruptly slapped her hand down the table. A line of black, all Faunus troops, marched at her command, storming down human positions, crushing garrisons…

"**Alert! Massive enemy troop movements detected. Code Red Emergency. Alert! Massive…"**

The announcement grew ever more urgent, designed to add to simulate real life combat stress of. But Glynda did not watch as her almost victorious troops stormed across the board. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Mercury.

"This is a farce."

This got the _Strategoi's_ attention.

"Excuse me?"

Glynda pointed to the board again and repeated what she said.

"This is a farce. You are one of the most decorated strategists to have ever lived. You overhauled the Valyrian logistical corps, purged the cabinet of corruption, and during the Thirty Days of Silence, you managed to carve out an entire pseudo-kingdom in overwhelmingly hostile territory. I am a scientist, an Auric manipulator. There is no doubt I could kill you with a blink in single combat. But in this? Mass movement of material? Command of grand strategy? This is child's play to you, even after…your incident."

Mercury arched a single eyebrow. Then, in one swift move, he snapped his fingers.

The entire board exploded in a nuclear holocaust.

"Yes. Yes indeed."

He stood, ramrod straight. His playful persona was gone.

"Your accusations are serious. Vale is no longer the power it once was. Our colonies are gone. The land has been sickened, wasted by the Grimm. A mere hundred years ago, we had a population of almost 25 million. Now…"

He rubbed his eyes.

"They are not an enemy we can combat conventionally. The arcologies will fall, one by one, eventually. And, when that happens…"

He gestured to the digital fire, and sighed.

"Not all hope is lost. Remember Atlas-63?"

"Mm? I'm sorry. I cannot possibly remember every minor purge."

Glynda's face was grim, and Mercury frowned.

"It wasn't minor. It wasn't minor at all."

…

Sorry for the horribad chapter today. Wrote it when I was half-asleep. Classes are a bitch. Quality will probably pick up in two weeks time, when shit in my life is over. Until then, enjoy my daily 1000 word drivel.

Again, plz review, even if it's terribad. I feeeeeeeeeeed on them, and I need fooooood to continue my daily words.

And, more seriously, reviews are the only way I can really understand what, you, the reader, wants. As of now, I really have no idea what is going on too, and have no real motivation other than to pump out a thousand words to improve my ability before I turn my attention to other, more serious works I want to complete. I've been literally making stuff up on the spot for the last three days, with no real motivation other than to get a thousand words or more a day. So, you know, if you actually enjoy this piece, now's a chance to scream out where you want to steer the story. A favorite is awesome, but all the favorites in the world won't tell me what I'm doing that's so awesome and what things I'm doing that aren't awesome. And really it's slightly impersonal. As in, slightly hard to care about. You hold the power to review. Use it.

It's almost like voting, in a way. Abuse it! Power to the people!

Fooooooooood.

Review!

Trivia: This has actually been my least favorite chapter so far. Weirdly, it's also my longest. I didn't get any buzz out of writing this, although it might have been that I only started at something like two in the morning and so all the juice had been drained out of me. Still, I take my duties of 1000 words seriously, so I'd really like some reviewer to come in and tell me how they thought this chapter stacked up with the others-better? Worse?

Consider it a personal plea.


	4. NOTICE

Um, well, this is incredibly embarrassing. Sorry if you thought it was a new chapter-no, it isn't. And also, no, I haven't died or anything.

Especially, you know, when I had promised that I would update everyday. At the time it had seemed feasible, but sadly, physics dictates such a schedule isn't possible, to get a work out with the amount of quality I demand from myself.

But still, to get it out of the way:

This fanfic will probably be going on hiatus for a short while, probably a month. That's the bad news.

The good news is, in the few weeks I've been busy, I've had a couple of pretty good brainstorms-as in, well, I actually _know_ what my story is going to be about. As in, there will actually be a somewhat logical, coherent plot. And well, yes, it's still going to have insane characters-but lots of things will have changed, and I will most likely rewrite all the things I have written so far.

For example, I plan for my first chapter to take place on a dark and stormy night, upon a lost and damned carrier plane interspersed by random flashbacks. Instead of, you know, another chapter of Cardin beating up Jaune.

My plan is for it to have roughly three acts, tentatively titled 1) Re-enactment, 2) Syllogio/Anagnorisis, 3) Exegesis.

It will hopefully include a cunningly lethal magic school, an army of mindless gods, a love story that transcends causality, and a unrepentant slave-liege-king. It will also contain an insane amount of numbering, from the Seven Sages of Tales Untold to the Unspoken Triumvirs to the Council of One-Oh to the Loyal Ten Thousand.

And tonnes of plot twists. Yes, we can't forget the insane plot twists.

I hope you'll have the patience to wait for another month. Or maybe not.

See you all.


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